Beneath the dim,
a portrait hung,
A likeness crafted,
beauty sprung,
But in its gaze,
a creep did fall,
Mistaking art for life,
enthralled.
He saw in strokes,
a soul so true,
In colors vivid,
love anew,
Yet blind to truth,
he couldn’t see,
The line between art and reality.
Harassed the creator,
innocent and pure,
His muse misunderstood,
of this, be sure,
Invaded the artist’s
sacred space,
An unwelcome intrusion,
a menacing embrace.
But irony weaves
a curious thread,
As blame was misplaced,
It was the artist who bled,
The creep, defended
by a twisted scheme,
They joined forces,
a nightmarish dream.
In this tale of art
and twisted minds,
A lesson unfolds,
a truth that binds,
To cherish creators,
their visions unique,
And in the realm of art,
respect, not critique.